


Lightness

by Corinne K (Corinne_K)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinne_K/pseuds/Corinne%20K
Summary: Shunsui and Jūshirō work on a circus show. As a new act takes shape, past and present intertwine and hidden feelings are revealed.





	Lightness

"You're so light... I can even... fuck you on glass..."

The statement, intercut by heavy breaths, made the light man chuckle. Yes, that was quite true, he thought, in more than one sense - his body mass the least relevant of all.

"A thoughtful face at a time like this?" the other enquired, pausing slightly.

Jūshirō shook his head, pulling the bare torso down towards him. With a harder thrust, his head hit the sleek computer screen that rested on the tempered glass desk. A hand closed around the top of his head, protecting it from further clashes, while the other lifted his left leg up and placed it over a toned shoulder. A path of wet, sloppy kisses slid down his inner tight, making him shiver.

Several years into this semblance of a relationship, the artistic director was already used to this scene. It was futile to pre-arrange any meeting with the other man. These encounters were as thrilling as they were unpredictable – dictated by the whims of Kyoraku Shunsui's inconstant libido. As much as Jūshirō hated the loneliness that always ensued, he couldn't help but to indulge in these fleeting moments of pleasure.

"I'm coming," the voice in his ear stated, matter-of-factly, and he saw himself unceremoniously stroked, while his ass was vigorously fucked with whatever remained of the other man's stamina. He threw his head back, oblivious of the computer screen, and enjoyed the confluence of it all, his orgasm finally washing over his whole body like a wave.

Eyes still closed, he felt suddenly emptied, and the feeling of warm skin on his became a phantom to his senses. He became aware of the cold hard surface beneath him and opened his eyes. He saw as the other man pulled a soiled condom from his softened member, and cleaned himself with paper towels. The pack was passed over to him, and he slid off the table, making all effort to prevent splatters, before cleaning himself thoroughly, and setting out to retrieve his lost garments.

“So… you were mentioning something about a rigging point,” the technical director began, while pulling up his black pants. Calloused long fingers worked on the row of metal buttons and moved up behind his head, to rearrange the mess of brown curls into a ponytail.

“I was…” Jūshirō vaguely admitted, mind still lulled by endorphins.

“I was!” he repeated more emphatically, sobriety finally kicking in. “I want to add one more act to the show… but now it’s too late!”

He plumped down on a chair in dismay, shirt still half undone.

“And why is that, love?”

Shunsui approached, panther-smooth steps. Coming down to a comfortable squat, he began to work up the row of buttons on the other man’s shirt.

“Your team has gone home. It’s past their time… and I need to hang something from the ceiling... before 7 am tomorrow.”

“Yare, yare… don’t tell me you regret our little digression?”

He could have, perhaps, given a faster reply to that. Something witty, or even just a meaningful glance. However, when Jūshirō spoke, it was an entirely honest answer.

“No, I don't.”

Shunsui smiled and let their foreheads touch for a moment, then kissed the other man’s cheek and pulled away.

“Why do you want to add something last minute? I thought you were happy with the show…”

“I was! But then I realized it’s all dynamics and no poetics. We need to give the audience time to breathe…”

Their eyes met. It had taken Jūshirō quite some time before he really got used to gazing straight into Shunsui’s eyes. It was only when he found the softness within that he ceased being intimidated by their strength.

“And what would that poetic interlude be?”

“Cerceau,” he answered simply, still relishing the tender touch.

The word alone caused an unexpected brightness to take over the squatting man’s face. Unfolding like a spring and suddenly upright he paddled back behind his desk and opened one of the metal chests. 

Jūshirō also stood up and followed the other’s movements with a curious look. There was shuffling and clinking of metal against metal, and, when Shunsui finally turned around, he had a heavy harness slung over his shoulder and a helmet in his hand. 

“Y-you don’t mean to…” Jūshirō stuttered.

Shunsui beamed. 

“On one condition...”

A dark eyebrow quirked, questioningly.

“Show it to me.”

The softness in the grey eyes was now so pronounced that Jūshirō could call them puppy-like. He sighed.

“The girls will do it much better tomorrow…”

“I’m not interested in girls…” was the sing-song answer.

“I’m not warm…”

“Aren't you?”

Jūshirō sighed again. The puppy eyes edged closer. The smell of oil, metal and old sweat passed through his nostrils. A hand touched his cheek.

“Please…”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, they had moved to the deserted training room. Jūshirō was on the floor stretching and Shunsui was hanging from a beam in the ceiling, carefully working on the chains and straps that held a large hoop some two meters above ground. When the work was done, he slid down the rope and, together, they dragged a thick mat under the hoop.

“Ready?”

Shunsui looked up from the floor as the former acrobat grasped the lower part of the hoop with a small jump. He pulled downwards with the weight of his body, testing the device, then tried a simple push up. Shunsui grinned in anticipation. But as fast as he rose up, Jūshirō went back to the ground, swaying a little as he hit the mat.

“You ok?” In a dash, Shunsui was on the mat, arms around the other man.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Shirt too tight, might rip. Wait.”

And one by one the buttons were undone again. He handed the shirt to the other man and took a step back, to stand under the hoop.

 

“Sorry, no music…”

The man sitting on the floor shook his head, grin turning into an entranced smile. Once again, Jūshirō reached for the hoop. Arm strength pulled his body higher, muscled torso wrapping around the hoop, legs shooting up and parting in a deep split.

For as much as Shunsui fought to stay in the present, his mind slowly slid to another evening, many years in the past. A white angel in the spotlight, descending from the sky, framed by the colors of the big top. He was just a layman at the time, pulling ropes in the dark. The shining angel was out of reach. After the performance, he caught a glimpse of the white boy, divested of costume and face paint, in a simple track suit, blabbering to an old coach. In that fleeting moment, more even than earlier on stage, he knew he’d seen someone unique.

“I’ve loved you since that night…” he whispered, but the thin sound didn’t project itself beyond ground level, and the man on the hoop carried on in supple movements, forming shapes against the lights of the ceiling. Years had passed until they met again. The angel's health had made him quit the stage for the training room, and Shunsui had climbed high enough to reach him. He watched the suspended dance as it slowed down and stoped.

“And that’s it, roughly…”

A long white ponytail cut through his field of vision and, right above it, there was a flushed upside down smile directed at him. He returned the warm expression and clapped. With a combined effort of slender muscles, the figure coiled and uncoiled, and was soon facing him again, hanging by just one arm, tips of toes almost touching the surface. 

He stood up just in time to welcome the flier within his arms.

“Beautiful,” he whispered in his ear.

“Thanks.”

His hand trailed behind the man’s neck, where sweat was starting to emerge. He pulled him closer. The quickened breath slowed down, and their lips met. 

Their kisses were always things of beauty – passionate and tender – and, therefore, reserved for special times. _Times_ _such_ _as this_ , he thought.

He pulled away gently, and tears threatened to form at the corners of his eyes, although he could not say why.

“Is everything ok?”

“Hmm…”

“Do you want to stop by my house for a drink?”

Hopeful eyes held his gaze with an acquired confidence. His hand left the thin waist to caress a still reddened cheek.

“I’m sorry love, I can’t leave just yet… I have a safety report to finish... due last week…”

Those green eyes looked down, then up again.

“Right... I’ll get going then. Thanks for setting this up.”

Shunsui watched as Jūshirō put on his shirt and shoes and headed to the exit. He was almost at the other end of the wide room, when he stopped and looked back.

“Shunsui… you like my lightness, don't you?”

Despite the distance, he heard all the words, but the meaning escaped him.

“Hmm?”

“Do you like it that I’m light on you?” the acrobat rephrased. 

A pang of guilt – or regret – pulsed in Shunsui’s chest.

“Yes, I do,” he answered with honesty.

Jūshirō smiled for the hundredth time – a sorrowful smile – and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! So, I couldn't be away for long after all! And each time I think I'll write about something else, a certain pair of old men decides to interfere (or maybe I just really like the possibilities left open by their personalities and interactions). Oh well, hope you were entertained by this little story. All the best to y'all!


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